


Reflections

by WritinRedhead



Series: Vasquez y Faraday One-Shots [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Humor, Implied Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Tension, They all have their issues, implied nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 23:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10672716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritinRedhead/pseuds/WritinRedhead
Summary: “¡Madre de Dios! Will you stop complaining for one damn minute, cabrón?!” Vasquez’s voice was exasperated as he tried to get a clear look at the wound – something that proved to be rather difficult with Faraday squirming on the corner of the bed he sat on. “And hold still!”Faraday has an accident and Vasquez wants to know why.





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> It started out as just something light and funny to get over a block… guess I got a bit carried away.  
> Hope you'll enjoy anyway~

" _¡Madre de Dios!_ Will you stop complaining for one damn minute, _cabrón_?!" Vasquez's voice was exasperated as he tried to get a clear look at the wound – something that proved to be rather difficult with Faraday squirming on the corner of the bed he sat on. "And hold still!"

"But it hurts," Faraday repeated once more, drawling out the last word as if he were in real agony. For a man who had caught half a mag of bullets only to then nearly get himself blown to bits, Vasquez thought he sure was a whiny bastard about more minor things. "Can't you be more careful with those rough hands of yours? I ain't no horse!"

"Damn right, _guero_ ," Vasquez admitted and carefully pulled away the collar of Faraday's shirt, he made up for it with a slight slap to the back of his head once the fabric was gone, "a horse wouldn't be dumb enough to cut himself like that. Stupid _gringo_ … _honestamente_ , were you trying to kill yourself while shaving?"

He could finally inspect the long, deep cut on Faraday's neck. How he had managed to cut himself at that angle _that_ deep was a mystery to Vasquez. Faraday flinched when his fingers made contact with the irritated skin around it.

"I was distracted, okay? _Shit!_ " Out of habit, Faraday had made the mistake to shrug his shoulders. He quickly let them sink again, explaining himself a bit quieter now, "my hand just slipped, it happens."

Vasquez scoffed. "If you say so…" He'd seen Faraday shoot men with barely so much as a glance over his shoulder while galloping down a street on horseback, maybe even cracking a joke should he feel like it – and each shot still was a dead sure hit. Joshua Faraday never got distracted. Nor did his hand slip. Ever. "Here, this might hurt a bit, so better grit your teeth."

Without protest – surprisingly – Faraday did as he was told and Vasquez noticed his jaw muscles clench. He turned to reach for the half empty bottle of cheap, high-proof whiskey on Faraday's nightstand in the two-bed room. He opened it and poured some of the golden liquid onto a clean rug.

"Oi, what're ya doin' with my good Bourbon?!" Faraday fidgeted, trying to see what Vasquez did behind his back.

"Putting it to good use for once."

"Drinking it is a perfectly good use, too, just so you know," Faraday grumbled, but without much other protest he slowly tilted his head to give Vasquez better access. "And what do you mean 'hurt a bit'? How much is a b- OW! FOR FUCK'S SAKE! _Goddammit_ , Vasquez, that hurt!"

"Told you so," Vasquez said. He tried try to keep the smirk from his voice, he really did. "But come on, man up, you survived way worse. Eh?"

"That's different. And you know it, Vas."

"You just like whining then, _guero_ , is that it?" Vasquez chuckled when Faraday crossed his arms in front of his chest, not unlike a petulant child.

"No, I don't," he said, staring straight ahead at the wall. "Now, just – hurry up and fix me, will ya? We don't have all day. I need to see that smith down at the corner, Jack's been walkin' weird the last couple of days. I think he needs new shoes."

" _Sí, sí_ … Hold that down for me." He waited for Faraday to pull his own shirt down with his right hand before he started cleaning the cut. Vasquez knew Faraday had changed the topic deliberately – but he wasn't about to give up just yet. He was curious now.

They'd now been sharing a room for close to two months.

The first couple of weeks, Faraday had stayed in a spare room above the town's local practitioner, his injuries causing him to be tied to the bed by his own body. He'd _hated_ it. And he'd let everyone know. At times, during his visits, Vasquez hat caught himself thinking it was a pity his mouth was the only part of the gambler remaining unscathed. He still came by, day after day.

Once he'd gotten the doc's okay to at least walk on his own, Faraday was more than glad to get out of the room, even if just to move into one at the inn they'd all stayed in before.

But there was only so much space, even with Billy and Goodnight sharing from the first day they'd set foot in Rose Creek and Red Harvest refusing to sleep under a timbered roof, so a second bed had been put into Vasquez's room. It was a mutually benefitting arrangement. Vasquez didn't really like being alone – _sabrá Dios_ , he'd had enough of that, enough for a lifetime – and even though Faraday'd probably never admit it, it was somewhat comforting to know there was a second, breathing body close whenever he jerked awake in the middle of the night, panting hard and clutching at his chest. More than one night Vasquez was roused by the dipping of his own mattress and a sudden warmth pressed against his back. They never spoke of it in the morning.

The first light of dawn had just begun to seep into the small room when Vasquez had woken up this morning. It'd seemed like Faraday'd been awake for some time, already dressed in his shirt and vest and in front of the slightly distorted mirror, smearing shaving foam onto his face.

Dragging a hand over his face, Vasquez had pulled back the thin woollen blanket and shrugged off the top part of his nightwear. He'd noticed the air was still a bit fresh against his naked skin, but that didn't bother him. Waking up in a sheltered, dry room still beat a damp blanket beneath a tree after sleeping with one eye open.

He'd stretched. There was a short twinge in his arm where the bullet had pierced through. He felt it on occasion, the scar tissue interfering with the muscles, he guessed. But hell, what did he know, he was no doctor. He never mentioned it to anyone, though. The others had it worse, most of all Faraday. Vasquez was sure, it'd probably go away on its own, given some time.

He'd just been about to pull his linen shirt over his head when he'd suddenly heard a loud yelp and turned around to see Faraday clutching at his neck, the razor blade bouncing off the floor once with a metallic tinkle, and a red runlet trickling into his shirt, colouring the fabric dark.

"So, what distracted you in the first place?"

"None of your business," Faraday said curtly, probably pissed Vasquez hadn't dropped the issue yet. He wasn't much of a talker as soon as matters turned towards himself. Vasquez reapplied some of the Bourbon to the cloth and dabbed at the cut again. Faraday let out a hiss. _"Fuck…!"_

"It is, if you want me to patch you up," Vasquez stated plainly. "I wonder if someone's brought hay to the stables yet, I might just go and check…"

"And just leave me here to bleed to death?! What a cold bastard are ya?"

"You're not dying, _guero_ , believe me. It'd take a whole more than that." Vasquez put the bottle back on the slim table under the mirror. The whole room was perfectly visible in the reflection. He hadn't really taken notice of that before.

"Bad weeds grow tall, ya mean? Well, I've already proven that, haven't I?" Faraday asked, chuckling, but Vasquez didn't answer. Something interesting had just come to his mind.

Faraday had stood right in front that mirror when he'd practiced performing a blood oath on his neck.

" _No me digas…"_ Vasquez quietly said to himself, a thought resurfacing he'd pushed away long ago. He'd always thought, in Faraday's mind, they were nothing more than battle companions, comrades-in-arms fighting side by side. To some extent maybe friends, even. But in a way – _this_ made sense, too. And he found himself not averse to the idea. On the contrary. He leaned down, hands on Faraday's shoulders, his face not much above the cut itself, so his voice, purposely a low murmur, poured into Faraday's ear. "You were watching me. In the mirror." It was more of a statement than a question, since Vasquez was quite sure he knew the answer.

Something in Faraday stiffened, his shoulders freezing, and he was quiet for a moment. Then, "…Hell no." But that one second of hesitation was enough confirmation.

Vasquez decided to go for broke.

The cut had stopped bleeding and he let go of the dirtied rug, just letting it drop to the floor. He didn't care. His hands dug into the suddenly tense muscles of Faraday's shoulders, aiming to alleviate some of the tension. Vasquez leaned further over his shoulder and their faces were closer now than would under normal circumstances be appropriate, his stubble brushing against Faraday's half-shaven cheek.

" _La_ _verdad_ _…_ Tell me the truth…" He murmured, voice still a low rumble. "Was it me, _guero_? Did _I_ distract you? So much it made your hand slip?"

Faraday kept his gaze stubbornly trained at the wall, not daring to move his head to the side. He'd meet Vasquez's if he did so. "Thinkin' a bit high of yourself there, ain't ya?" He tried for a laugh, but it sounded jerky, and Faraday stopped to grit his teeth again. He could be a headstrong son of a gun. But as was Vasquez.

" _Sí_ ," he admitted. "But only if I am wrong. …and I'm not, right?" Almost on its own, his hand moved, making its way down to Faraday's chest.

It was a daring move. Bold. Vasquez knew. They were both well aware of the times they lived in – the unspoken law of the west didn't take too kindly to men coming on to others. But Faraday liked to gamble, and that was what this was: A game of poker, able to change everything within a fraction of a second. All dependent on the other's reaction.

But in the months he'd now known the Irish gambler, Vasquez had learned to read some of his tells. Not all of them, chances were no one could. Enough, though, to know parts of the true meaning behind Faraday's words and actions. Vasquez just wondered why it had taken him this long to figure out this particular one: There was attraction. And it was mutual. He'd bet his life on it. That wasn't much coming from a man with a bounty on his head – but it was all he had.

"No…" Faraday sucked in a sharp breath and finally turned around, fixing Vasquez with a resolute look, not flinching away from the eye contact, "you're not–" He cleared his throat, "wrong. There, ya happy now?"

The corners of his mouth were twisting upwards and in a single rush, Vasquez felt the tension he hadn't noticed building in his own body dissolving. " _Mucho_."

Faraday, too, seemed to ease up, his posture visibly relaxing now, and mindful of the wound, Vasquez brought his other free hand to Faraday's jaw, raising his head.

The touch was short and the surface rough, chapped lips meeting chapped lips. First testing the waters, waiting until the pressure was returned. And it was.

Then Faraday moved away, muttering, "Ah, damn it. To hell with it all," and he grabbed the hand on the front of his body and pulled Vasquez down towards him, changing his hold and using the fistful of Vasquez's shirt to push him onto the thin mattress, Faraday himself following. This time it was him pressing his mouth against Vasquez's.

Vasquez complied without a hint of hesitation when wordlessly asked to open it. For a while it was just their breaths mingling and tongues entangling, bodies close enough to feel the other's strong, but sped up heartbeat.

"Alright. I admit it," Faraday then said, panting and rolling to his side – but not away. "I been watching you, and it was a _damn fine_ sight."

His own breath not quite there yet, Vasquez chuckled. "Yes. Yes, you were. And then you cut yourself. _Tonto_."

"Won't happen again," Faraday announced, bringing up a hand to feel his neck.

" _Qué pena_ ," Vasquez grinned at him, teeth flashing white. "I wouldn't mind you looking some more, _guero_."

"Sure you would."

Faraday returned the grin and they both laughed, the vibrations of Faraday's hearty rumble resonated in Vasquez's own chest. _No es tan malo…_ He could get used to this.

When there was silence again, with nothing more than their breathing to be heard, a different question rose in Vasquez's mind.

"Since when?" He asked.

Faraday paused for a moment before answering.

"You always visited."

 

* * *

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, and Jack got his new shoes about two hours late that day. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Translations:**
> 
> Madre de Dios – Holy Mother of God  
> Cabrón – Bastard/Jerk  
> Guero – Blondie  
> Honestamente – Honestly  
> Sí – Yes  
> Sabrá Dios – God knows  
> No me digas… – Don’t tell me…  
> La verdad – The truth  
> Mucho – Very  
> Tonto – Idiot  
> Qué pena – What a shame  
> No es tan malo… – Not so bad/Not half bad… 
> 
> Thank you for reading  
> ~Writin'Redhead  
> tumblr: [ writinredhead](https://writinredhead.tumblr.com)


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